


Right Here

by JenSurname



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Loss, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 12:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenSurname/pseuds/JenSurname
Summary: One shot. There is a theory in certain circles that in Season 6, Alex may die. I have absolutely no idea if that's going to happen or not, but if it does, the aftermath may look a little like this...(I'm so sorry.)





	Right Here

One hour

It’s Polly who collects her. I knew it would be. I’m pleased it’s her, despite the difficulties between us that we’ve never quite managed to resolve.

She’s sitting in the room alone, surrounded by people, all of whom are strangers to her. When the doors slide open, she doesn’t notice Polly hurrying through. Polly makes her way to the desk and leans across slightly, invading the space of the disinterested kid working the night shift. I watch as the receptionist taps on the keyboard, then gestures with a nod of the head across the room.

Piper is sitting silently, her hands folded neatly and resting in her lap. She appears to be engrossed in a piece of cotton fraying from the knee of her jeans. Her eyes are fixed on that one thread, head lowered slightly, so she doesn’t notice Polly’s presence until a hand touches her elbow and she hears her own name.

She looks up and is a little startled when she notices Polly seated beside her.

“Oh, hi,” she says. Nothing more.

“Piper…” Polly starts, then stops.

_Are those tears? Is she actually going to fucking cry?_

I watch as Polly throws both arms around Piper and hugs her tightly. Piper’s hands remain in her lap, her body doesn’t move, she doesn’t respond to the hug, she just lets herself be held: rigid, unmoving. Her eyes remain open and fixed on a spot of nothingness six feet behind her best friend’s shoulder as Polly holds her and squeezes her own eyes closed to stop tears escaping.

_Fuck your tears._

Nobody else notices them. The room is full, busy, noisy, but nobody pays them any attention, these two women hugging silently against the back wall.

Polly releases her after twenty or thirty seconds.

“Let’s get you out of here,” she says. Her voice is hoarse and scratchy and I almost laugh.

Piper takes a moment to process the words, then copies her friend as she stands. Polly takes hold of her hand and slowly begins to move away in the direction of the exit, watching Piper warily.

I watch as Piper takes two steps then stops and pulls her hand free, suddenly wrenched from her daze, whipping back around to face the seat she’d just occupied. She reaches for the jacket folded neatly beneath the seat and picks it up, before holding it against her chest and turning back to face her friend.

Polly nods and again turns to the exit. Piper follows, trailing slowly in her wake, eyes now fixed on her friend’s back. Polly keeps glancing over her shoulder, checking Piper is following.

She misses the moment when Piper presses her face into the jacket she’s clutching and inhales deeply.

_Oh, Pipes._

I don’t miss it.

 

* * *

 

One day

She’s lying in bed, looking at the ceiling. Or looking through the ceiling, I’m not sure which.

_I’m right here, Pipes,_ I say from my position in the corner of the room, knowing she doesn’t hear me.

She’s in Polly’s apartment and she’s been here since last night, when they returned from the hospital. She’s uttered a total of ten words in the past eighteen hours since her initial acknowledgement of her friend’s presence.

“No thanks” in response to Polly asking if she needed anything. Two words.

“Thanks” when given a very large brandy last night. Three.

“No” in response to being asked if she wanted to call anybody. Four.

“Night” when Polly wished her goodnight and left the bedroom. Five.

 “Yeah” when greeted the following morning and asked if she was okay. _Stupid question._ Six.

 “ **DON’T FUCKING TOUCH IT** ” when Polly tried to move the jacket from beside Piper on the bed to hang it up.

Polly had dropped the jacket back onto the bed and stepped away as if she’d been burned. She is right now in the kitchen on the phone to Piper’s brother, telling him that it’s the only sign of any emotion she’s seen since she picked her up last night.

Piper is otherwise monosyllabic. Choosing to communicate with a nod or a shake of the head. Speaking takes such energy. Everything take so much energy and she just doesn’t have it.

On the bedside table next to her is a tray containing a cup of cold tea and bowl of cold chicken soup. This tray replaced the one brought in and removed four hours earlier.  That one contained tea and toast, both when it was delivered and when it was taken away.

_You’ll make her worry about you, kid._

She hasn’t slept. I know, I’ve been with her the whole time. She’s been lying in this bed looking at the ceiling in silence, barely moving, all night and all morning. Not a flicker of emotion has crossed her face in all the time she’s been here, other than when Polly tried to move the jacket.

My jacket.

I sit silently and watch her. I watch as she doesn’t even acknowledge Polly’s presence when she comes in and takes away the untouched lunch tray and replaces it with a glass of water. Her skin is pale, her eyes tired and empty. The spark I’m used to seeing has been extinguished and for the first time, I realise what people mean when they talk about someone being ‘dead behind the eyes’.  Her face is drawn and her lips are dry and that’s what bothers me the most. Her lips.  I’m used to them being soft and pink and tasting faintly of the cherry lip balm she’s so fond of.  They’re dry and beginning to crack and it bothers me.

It bothers me.

So I move and sit beside her on the bed and stroke her hair and she doesn’t move. She feels nothing – literally and figuratively – and she doesn’t feel me touching her, she doesn’t feel my presence, she doesn’t hear me.

_You gotta do this, Pipes. You have to drink. Come on, kid. Do it for me._

I watch as a sigh leaves her body and she shifts, pushing herself up on one elbow. She reaches for the glass and takes a sip of water, then another, then a third before replacing the glass and lying down again.

_Attagirl. That’s my girl. That’s the way._

Her eyes drift back to the ceiling and I watch as she once again slips back to the place where nothing touches her. Back into the impenetrable cocoon. I continue to stroke her hair and try to will her to sleep, to rest, just to have some rest. Her breathing is slow and regular, but her eyes remain open and fixed on the ceiling.

I can hear Polly’s voice on the phone in the other room. I’m sure Piper could too, if she wasn’t locked inside her own world, but she can hear nothing. Nothing external. Nothing but the sound of blood rushing in her ears and her heart, still beating rhythmically in her chest, deceiving her, beating soundly like it wasn’t broken, shattered into a million little pieces, never to be whole again.

 

* * *

 

One week

She’s started eating now, small amounts at least. She showered three days ago too, for the first time since… since. Then again yesterday, and again this morning.

Her brother came. Flew in from the west coast, took her from Polly’s apartment and brought her back here to our place. _Her_ place. _Hers._  

He yelled at her and I wanted to slap him, before I realised what he was doing. Where Polly had been soft and gentle and avoidant and non-confrontational, he was the opposite. He was forthright and direct and deliberate and forced her to come out of that cocoon and face things head-on.

It wasn’t pretty. He pushed her and pushed her and pushed her until eventually she snapped. When she did, the floodgates opened and it was raw and visceral and violent. Genuinely violent, to the point that he had to intervene. He grabbed her wrists and held them tightly until she eventually stopped fighting, stopped trying to pull away, stopped railing against him and the world and instead collapsed against him, sobbing.  The hurt she’d been keeping inside since that night finally escaped, carried on a howl, a sound the likes of which no human should ever make.

He held her. She cried. I sat in the corner, my back against the wall and my head in my hands and I cried with her.

Today, she woke at seven. The pills the doctor gave her have forced sleep upon her and her body no longer feels as heavy as it did, although her mind is still weighing her down.  She showered and I watched her.  The shower is where she allows herself to cry. She lifts her face into the spray and her tears mix with the water and wash away and nobody knows.

_I know._

She turns the water off abruptly and stands in the shower stall, water dripping from her.

“Alex?” she says out loud.

_I’m right here, kid._

She frowns and shakes her head, as if dismissing the foolishness of her behaviour and she reaches for a towel.

It isn’t foolish.  I’m right here.

I’m right beside her three hours later as she stands in front of the mirror and checks her appearance. Her hair is brushed but not styled, she wears no make-up, but she’s looking composed and that’s a good start.

She’s wearing a pair of black linen slacks, black shoes with almost no heel, and a white blouse.

In the next room her brother is in a black suit, white shirt, black tie. Polly is wearing a black suit. The car that’s waiting outside is black.  It’s all black.  Her brother checks his watch and casts a glance towards Piper’s bedroom. Our bedroom. No, _hers_.

I stand beside her and watch her reflection. I see the doubt in her eyes, the reluctance.

_You can do this, Piper. You can do it._

I watch as she squares her shoulders, then reaches for her jacket and shrugs into it.

“I can do this,” she says out loud. “I can do it.”

_That’s my girl._

And my jacket.

 

* * *

 

One month

She hasn’t returned to work yet. Nor has she removed my clothes from the closet. She will, but she isn’t ready yet. That’s okay.

Her brother flew back west four days after the funeral. Polly stayed with her for the next two nights, but then Piper told her to go home. Told her she’d be fine on her own.  She wasn’t, but she will be. That’s okay.

She’s sleeping better now. She only takes the pills two or three nights a week and she does okay on the other nights. Her sleep isn’t restful, but it’s sleep.  She has nightmares sometimes and when she does I lie beside her and stroke her hair and tell her it’s all going to be okay. She doesn’t hear me or feel my touch, but I’m with her in those moments all the same.

Her doctor wanted to give her some pills and she asked him what for and he said they would help. She asked if they would bring me back. He looked at her sadly in reply. She stood, shouted at him that she didn’t want _fucking tablets_ , she wanted her _wife back_. She wanted her _fucking life back_.

I sat beside her on the subway on her return journey and told her I was still with her. That I’ll never truly leave her. She didn’t hear me. She just sat and twisted her wedding ring around her finger the whole trip back.

I’m with her now as she sits alone in our… _her_ … apartment and tries to read. I see her frown when there’s a knock on the door and I watch her glance at the clock. Eight thirty.

A voice yells ‘pizza’ through the door and she sighs, knowing she hasn’t ordered pizza, and rises to go and explain this to the delivery driver.

As soon as she opens the door, a familiar face greets her and she’s taken by surprise. That moment of surprise is all that’s needed to allow the visitor to shoulder their way into the apartment, arms laden with a case of beer and three bottles of wine.

“It stops here, Chapman. Right here right now.” 

Piper watches, then closes the door slowly, watching the back of her visitor move into the kitchen.

“I’m not letting you do it to me anymore, d’ya hear me?”

“I… what? I don’t…” Piper stammers out.

Arms now relieved of their burden, Nicky appears again in the kitchen doorway.

“She fucking made me _promise_ , Chapman. Promise, for fuck’s sake. How the fuck am I supposed to look after you if you’re avoiding me?”

“I’m not,” Piper starts. “I haven’t, I don’t…”

“Bullshit. It’s bad enough that you’re avoiding me, don’t fucking lie about it too.”

I watch this exchange apprehensively. If I had breath to hold, I’d be holding it right now. This is going to go one of two ways.

Nicky’s right of course, Piper _has_ been avoiding her. She’s been sending her calls to voicemail and replying negatively to texts from her suggesting they meet up. She’s withdrawn into an isolative world where she functions on a basic level. She showers, eats, drinks, reads and sleeps. That’s pretty much her life now. Anything outside of that routine is something she actively avoids.

Nicky appears to be done with that and I would hug her if I could.

“It’s just…” Piper’s voice trails off and Nicky waits, silently.

Piper shakes her head, giving up on the end of the sentence.

“Just what?” Nicky prompts, and I swear I’ve never heard her voice so soft before.

“Hard.” Piper finally manages.

When she looks up at Nicky, Piper’s biting her lip hard and her eyes are welling with tears that she’s determined not to let fall.

_Oh Pipes. Oh, my girl._

Nicky approaches her slowly. She reaches out a hand and rests it on Piper’s shoulder, then slowly moves it down her bicep. Piper just looks at her, unmoving, saying nothing, teeth still digging into her lip.  Nicky’s left arm copies her right and a moment later she hesitantly steps closer still, wrapping her arms around Piper, pulling her into a gentle hug.

_Let it go, Pipes. Let it happen._

Piper does. Her arms slowly move around Nicky and she holds on, allowing herself to be held, as her tears start to fall.

Nicky holds her, she rubs her back soothingly, she shushes her and tells her it’s okay, that it’s gonna be okay. She tells her to let it out, that she’s here, that she’s not going anywhere. Piper cries. The first time she’s cried in front of another person since she raged at her brother four days after I left her. She doesn’t just cry, she breaks her fucking heart and Nicky holds her. She holds her like I would hold her if I had the chance and I’m so grateful to her right at this moment.

Piper’s sobs begin to subside, replaced by a sniff every few seconds instead.

“It’s so unfair,” she whispers.

“I know, kid.” Nicky replies. Then adds “It really is. This is my favourite coat and now it has your snot all over it. So fucking unfair.”

Piper can’t help barking out a short laugh. She pulls away and Nicky smiles at her lopsidedly, then reaches out and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. She leans in and presses a kiss to Piper’s forehead.

“Thank you,” Piper murmurs, “for not letting me shut you out.”  Nicky releases her and heads back towards the kitchen.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” she replies, then emerges again a moment later holding two beers. “She was a fucking asshole, Pipes, can you imagine how bad it would be to have her haunt me because I didn’t follow through on a promise? Fuck that shit.”

She hands Piper one of the beers. Piper looks at her curiously.

“What?”

“Did you just call me ‘Pipes’?”

“Uh, I don’t think so. Why would I do that? You’re _Chapman_.”

“I think you did.”

Nicky shakes her head, sure that Piper is mistaken. “I’ve never done that before. Why would I start now?”

Piper shrugs as she sits on the couch and smiles. “Maybe she’s haunting you…”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus, that’s all I fucking need.”

They spend the evening talking, drinking, reminiscing, even laughing. Piper had forgotten how to laugh before tonight and it felt good. The laughs are mainly at my expense, but I genuinely don’t care. It’s good to see them together like this and although Nicky will never admit it to Piper, she needed tonight just as much as Piper did.

“Seriously,” Piper says, pointing at Nicky with the neck of her beer bottle, “it’s such bullshit. If one more person tell me that _time’s a healer_ , I’m going to punch them straight in the fucking face.”

I smile. The alcohol is definitely flowing through her bloodstream now, it shows in her language.

“I know, right?” Nicky replies.

“I don’t want to give it time. Time isn’t going to fix anything. It isn’t going to bring her back to me, is it? Fuck time. Fuck healing. Fuck it all.”

“Fuck me?” Nicky asks, trying to sound hopeful but clearly joking.

“She really would haunt you if we did _that_ , Nic.” Piper grins.

Nicky nods her agreement, then studies her beer bottle, pondering her next words.

“You’re right though. People say that, about time healing, but it doesn’t. How can time heal a wound this big? Time doesn’t heal, it accommodates. You learn to live differently, but time doesn’t fix anything. You carry on and eventually you find a way to smile again and to appreciate the beauty in things again, the colours come back, but never as vibrant. You learn how to carry on, but it’s different. You live differently, time allows you to accommodate the gaping hole in your life and learn how to live with it there. Time doesn’t heal, it accommodates.”

Piper sits silently and stares at Nicky. The expression on her face mirrors my own.

_Fuck, Nicky. Where the hell did that come from?_

“Where the hell did that come from?” Piper asks.

Nicky shrugs and drains her bottle. Piper just sits watching her.

“How big is it?” Piper asks softly, after a few seconds of silence.

“Huh?”

“Your wound.”

Nicky frowns, genuinely confused. Before she can come up with a crude response, Piper continues.

“You said time can’t heal a wound this big. How big?”

Nicky shakes her head and looks away. If I didn’t know better, I’d say those were tears that she’s fighting back.

“Pretty huge,” Nicky manages. “Pretty, like, Vause sized.”

Piper moves along the couch until they’re sitting side by side. She lifts Nicky’s arm and drapes it across her own shoulders, then cuddles into her.

Nicky presses her lips to Piper’s hair and they sit silently.

“I fucking hate her for leaving us,” she murmurs, in a rare moment of candour.

_I haven’t left you.  Either of you.  I’m right here._

“She’s right here,” Piper whispers, placing her hand on Nicky’s chest, in a rough approximation of where her heart is.

They sit silently, cuddled into each other, for the best part of two minutes until Nicky speaks again.

“I can’t believe you’re choosing this poignant moment to try and cop a feel, Chapman.”

Piper withdraws her hand quickly, a look of abject horror on her face as she begins to protest her innocence. Nicky starts to laugh as Piper tries to pull away and she holds her tighter, keeping her close.

I smile at them. They’re going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

One year

She talks to me regularly now. Always when she’s alone, often when she’s stressed, or busy. She asks me for my opinion when she has decisions to make and though she can’t hear my responses, I always respond.

Sometimes she shouts at me. Rages at me for leaving her. Throws accusations in my direction and tells me that she hates me.  She doesn’t hate me. She loves me. She loves me just as much as she did a year ago and that goes both ways, but she loves me differently now.

I don’t miss her, because I’m always with her. I miss being able to feel things. I miss being able to _feel_. I miss the outdoors, fresh air, rain. I miss touching her, feeling her skin, her hair, her lips. I miss the tangible things. The boring things. The everyday things. I miss life. I miss life with her.

Two months ago she went on a date. It wasn’t sold to her as a date when Nicky arranged it, it was sold to her as “ _doubling up with me and Lorna. I have four tickets and three people, you’re my spare,_ ” but Piper knew.  Nicky had been “casually” dropping Hannah’s name into conversation for about a month prior, so Piper was in no doubt about what Nicky was actually trying to do.

Nicky was in no doubt about what a waste of time it was when Piper turned up to the event wearing my jacket.

Two weeks ago, I watched as she prepared dinner and dished up two servings, on two plates, before realising her error. She stared at the plates for a moment before sitting at the table and crying like she hadn’t cried for months.  I stood beside her, my hand on her shoulder, and told her it was okay.

It isn’t okay. It’ll never be okay. It’s just different.

It’s been a year of firsts for her. First birthday without me, first Thanksgiving, first Christmas and now the first anniversary of my death.  Her friends, her family, they’ve all stepped up. She’s never been alone on any one of those firsts and today is no different.

Today is a busy day. She’s been dreading it, her friends have been dreading it, _I’ve_ been dreading it. Today is the last of the firsts. They’re going to keep her busy, they’ve planned it like a military operation. She has a breakfast date with Polly, then is meeting Nicky and Lorna for lunch. Late this afternoon, her brother is flying in and he’s staying until the weekend. Tonight they’ll have dinner and he has tickets for a show on Broadway and she’ll do it, she’ll get through today and everyone will breathe a sigh of relief. 

It’ll be tomorrow that it hits her. They’ve all been so focussed on getting through today, staying strong and just getting through it, that tomorrow she’ll wake up and it’ll hit her then.

Tomorrow she’ll wake up alone and the pain will wash over her and she’ll cry in the shower and wonder how she’ll ever make it through another day, another week, another month, another year.

The wound will be raw and open and every bit as painful as it ever was.

But she’ll do it. She’ll get through it and I’ll be right beside her as I’ve always been. As I always will be.

A love like ours never dies. I’m right here. I’m waiting for her. Right here.


End file.
